


Bittersweet & Strange

by GypsyUpir



Category: Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types, Hemlock Grove
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Peter is the Beast, Roman is Belle, Romancek, the basic story is the same
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-10 02:20:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17417171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GypsyUpir/pseuds/GypsyUpir
Summary: “If you find another whose love grows to surpass the amount of your selfishness, the animal will leave you.”Then, she cracked a devilish grin. “But who could ever learn to love a beast?”





	1. Prologue

As the final traces of summer sunlight began to sink beneath the hills of the wood, the boy urged himself to run faster. The forest path was difficult enough to navigate in the light of day; in darkness, it would be nearly impossible. But more than that, a quaking fear arose within him as the night drew closer.

There was a danger now lurking for him out here, a threat that he assured himself over and over had to be merely a figment of his imagination. But now, all at once, it felt much too real.

Even when he closed his eyes, he could see her. The old beggar woman had been following him around the village for weeks. At first, he feared her presence, but later on, he just grew annoyed. What she wanted, he couldn’t fathom, and though he’d thought more than once of confronting her, he really was not of that sort, and he would do just about anything to not draw attention to himself.

If she wanted to follow him around, then by God, let her.

What happened today, or what he _imagined_ happened, was still a blur, and came together as distorted fragments in his memory. He saw her once again in the marketplace this afternoon, seeming much closer in proximity than she had been previously. As usual, he was perturbed by her, but now he felt a renewed sense of unease.

He did his best to ignore her and went about his normal business of rummaging for possible supplies and swiping whatever produce he could without being seen. After a while, it appeared he had lost the beggar woman somewhere, and he allowed himself to relax a little as he finished his job.

Once he acquired all he could manage to carry in his pockets, he snuck away from the merchants and out of the village. He’d just entered the outskirts of the forest when the woman came out of nowhere, cornering him in a congregation of trees.

Seeing her from afar had been startling enough, but seeing her up close was downright terrifying. She was nothing but crinkled, veiny skin and gnarled bone, hunched over to the point where her height nearly matched his. Her greasy silver hair hung in strings around her face, and her milky blue eyes stared him down dangerously.

She pointed a twisted finger right in his face. “I saw you,” she croaked. “For shame.”

The woman gave him a nasty smile as her elderly appearance melted away, and she transformed into the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. The boy blinked wildly, knowing for sure this had to be a dream he couldn’t wake from.

She towered over him, and with a snap of her slender fingers, his pockets tore open and spilled every piece of food he’d taken onto the ground. Fear ran through him as he looked up to meet her piercing eyes.

“Oh…you greedy little thing,” the woman said with faux disappointment before she smiled in amusement. “What are we to do with such a selfish child?”

Then, without warning, an intense electric shock ran through his body. It only lasted a second or two, but it was strong enough to make his body feel like it was encased in stone. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t scream; he could only watch the wicked pleasure spread across the woman’s face as he felt his body fry.

When the sensation passed, he fell to the ground weakly, too scared and too shocked to even think of what he should do. He began to stand up, avoiding the woman’s gaze as she hovered, her sights squared on him like he was fresh prey.

“If you’re going to scavenge like a beast,” she clucked her tongue. “Learn to do it right.”

The next thing he knew, he was running for his life. He just had to get home, he told himself. If he made it home, it would okay. He would be safe. 

His lungs fill with fire as he continues to run, the breaths heaving out of him turning dangerously hallow. Shooting a hand out to slow himself, his arm wraps around the rotting carcass of a tree as he looks toward the dark blue skyline. Just beyond the foliage of the pine wood trees, he sees the faint glow of the moon, and a startling pain struck him in the gut.

_Get home. Get home, NOW._

Once again, he hits a dead run through the forest, pumping himself as fast and as far as he can despite the horrid stirring of his insides. He keeps a close eye on the moon, which appears to be chasing him. A feverish sweat breaks out all over his body, and for a moment, he feels he’s going to be sick right there.

But he pushes himself forward, praying that home is closer than he thinks. Wildlife stirs around him, the cicadas frantically chirping to life as the birds migrate to their nests for the evening. A pair of brown bats swoop just a few inches above the top of his head and fly ahead of him with a chorus of content squeaks. In the distance, he hears the faint but distinct howl of a coyote. Or a wolf.

He comes to a stop as another intense cramp tears through him. Doubling over, he pants heavily against the throbbing in his stomach, trying with all of his might not to cry out. His eyes sting with hot tears, brought on more from his terror than the pain.

Clutching his middle, he forces himself to trudge on, his legs tripping over one another as he walks. Glancing up he sees, with joyous relief, the clearing on which his home sits. He tells his feet to move faster, that safety and shelter is just within reach.

Galloping the rest of the path, the forest finally breaks around him as he comes upon the yard of the tiny cottage. He finds immediate comfort in the glow of the lantern he sees resting in the window, a beacon that burns for him to return home when he is away. He is halfway across the yard when he sees it, the full moon in all its glory rising in the sky, looming over him and bathing his body in luminescent light.

The glow barely touches him when he hears something snap with deafening resonance in his ears. His body drops heavily onto the cool grass, and he tries to push himself back up, but his will-power is quickly eclipsed by a sudden wave of excruciating pain radiating from his spine. He wants to scream at the agony of it, but nothing comes out of his mouth.

The bones continue to grind in his head, his ribcage feeling as if it’s about to spring from his body. His fingers dig into the earth, tearing out clumps of grass and sod and tossing them wildly behind him, needing something, anything, to channel this suffering into.

But as he pulls up another handful of weeds, he sees the skin of his fingers splitting apart and unraveling from his hands like ribbons.

This time, he does cry out, bellowing a desperate plea for help as his shoulders crack outward, the flesh on his arms behaving just as his fingers had. The pearls of his spine are popping now, arching fiercely toward the moon, and he screams once more.

The light from the window disappears for a moment, only to reappear in the doorway of the cottage. Gingerly, a sickly woman pokes her head out from behind the door, lifting the lantern into the night and glancing around the yard fearfully.

She wraps the heavy wool shawl tightly around her shoulders as she comes out onto the porch. Something is in the yard, but the dull light emanating from her lantern doesn’t allow her to make out what it is.

A wounded animal, it seems to her. Her heart immediately goes out to the poor creature, wishing there was something she could do for it. But with the amount of noise it’s making, she knows death would most likely be its only mercy.

Then, she hears a low, growling voice, one that sounds more human than could be possible. She squints in the darkness, watching the writhing movements of the creature as the voice comes to her again, snarling but unabashedly familiar.

“Mother…”

The breath leaves her lungs in a gasp as the voice rings like a bell in her ears.

“Peter?” she says, disbelieving.

The boy lets out a pained yelp and violently thrashes forward, reaching a hand toward his mother, who seems so close to him, yet still so far away, and he realizes then that his hand is not a hand at all. Now, it’s a ferocious, fur covered paw with glistening claws jutting out of his fingertips like swords.

“Mother!” he cries out, a growl catching in his throat.

The woman runs down the steps of the porch, her shawl fluttering off of her shoulders as she makes her way to him.

“Peter?!” the woman screams. “Peter, is that you?? What’s happened—“

The boy looks up at his mother, and she watches in horror as his eyes begin to bleed and roll out of their sockets, replaced with the gold, piercing gaze of an animal. The skin of his face starts to burn, smoldering the tissue beneath, and instinct tells him he needs to be rid of it.

Without even thinking, his new claws reach up and sink into the meat of his cheeks, shredding the flesh and fat away to reveal tufts of course, black fur.

The woman screams for her son, yelling prayers to the heavens that he be saved, begging him to stop hurting himself. With desperate sobs, her thin hands reach out to hold him. In his panic, the boy lunges for her, his paws swiping at her wildly, and in an instant, his claws slice swiftly into her middle.

Eyes widening in shock, her sobs are reduced to nothing more than throaty gurgles as blood seeps out of the gashes in her stomach, coating her faded nightgown in a ghastly red. She staggers backward as she clutches her abdomen with both hands, falling to her knees and collapsing in a crumpled heap on the ground.

The wolf is now fully emerged, and with a full shake of his body, the final remnants of the boy’s flesh fall to the ground. Immediately, the wolf goes to his mother, an agonized whine leaving his throat as the final signs of life tremble out of her. He nudges her gently with his head, watching as her movements eventually cease and she falls eerily still.

The wolf lifts his head to the moon and howls mournfully. His cries echo throughout the forest, and are soon answered by the calls of other nocturnal animals. The wolf moans as he comes to lie on top of his mother’s body, feeling an instinct to keep her warm although it’s too late.

Closing his eyes, he tries to rest against the immense amount of fear and sadness running through him. His mother was gone; the only love he’d ever felt in his life was no longer. And it was entirely his fault.

Now, he had no one to turn to, no one to help him, no one to see him for who he truly was. He was a cursed being, fated to roam the earth alone with no purpose and no reason to exist. All was now lost.

But something nagged at his memory now as he felt the exhaustion finally began to take him. Before he’d gathered enough sense to run away, the woman offered him the barest thread of hope for his humanity.

_“If you find another whose love grows to surpass the amount of your selfishness, the animal will leave you.”_

Then, she cracked a devilish grin. _“But who could ever learn to love a beast?”_


	2. A Pity & A Sin (He Doesn't Quite Fit In)

_**Roman** _

As soon as the morning sky lightens enough for me to clearly see the hills that dot the horizon, I prepare to make my escape.

It was finally Saturday morning, a day I anticipated with an almost childish excitement every passing week. It was the day I made my visit to the village square, in search of a new read and whatever other treasures I’d be blessed enough to find.

In five whole years, I’d never once missed a Saturday adventure. And this particular Saturday, I needed the outing more than I’ve probably ever needed it. It was a virtue to run away from my life, if even for a little while.

Quietly, I slip out from under the heavy throw on my bed and slip on the hooded parka my nursemaid knit for me for my last birthday. It’s summer and much too warm for such a thing, but it hides my face well. I gather the small pile of books I have stashed beneath my bed and crowd them into the duffel that slings over my shoulder.

I crack open my chamber door and my eyes quickly search the hallway to find not a single stirring from anyone. Mother was no doubt still locked away in her room, adamant that she not be disturbed while there were any remaining traces of darkness outside.

By the look of the sky, I still had at least a couple of hours before the governess would come for me. I had to act fast.

Carefully, I climb out of my second story window and latch onto one of the stone bricks that lead a path down to the ground. I slowly descend the wall of the castle, my pace measured. I’ve only fallen once, and though the damage was minimal, I’d prefer not to do it again. Thankfully, it’s not too long of a way down.

I look down to see that I’m close enough to make a safe leap into the grass, so I go for it, landing heavily on my feet. Out of nervous habit, I quickly glance around me, making sure none of the guards are close enough to catch sight of me before I sprint across the back lawn, finally tasting my freedom.

It’s a bit of a jaunt from the castle to Tenby Square, at least if you go through the woods like I do. There are two main roads that lead into the village; Thorne Walk, designated for the Royal Court and traveling merchants, and Palewell Lane for public use.

I’ve taken Palewell only a handful of times, and though it’s a much quicker path to where I’m headed, I prefer the silent morning serenity of the woods. The scenery alone is worth the trip, and sometimes I take pause to sketch some of the foliage or wildlife if I’m lucky enough to spot them.

On top of that, these outings are much too precious to me to risk being seen. I’d been lucky enough to avoid it the few times I’d ventured along Palewell, but I didn’t want to chance someone calling attention to me.

Realistically, I don’t think many people actually  _would_  recognize me.  Present excursion excluded, I have very rarely been seen outside the palace since I was born. Mother reigned over her kingdom from a distance, doing her best to remain separated from what she referred to as “the lowly”. 

 

"A good ruler mustn't confuse themselves with that which is below them," she always used to tell me, which was the more pleasant way of saying, "You are above those people, why would you want to associate?"

I finally make it to the outskirts of the square as a rooster cries his morning alarm in the distance. I pick up my pace a bit, anxious to get to the book shop before the crowds become too thick. I can always make my way around quite easily, but I tend to get slowed down if there are too many people.

Already, the square is bustling with business. Mr. and Mrs. Rosenburg have the door to their bakery wide open, the aroma of fresh baked bread and cinnamon scones enticing enough to make my mouth water. I offer a cordial wave as Mrs. Rosenburg places a tray of muffins and other pastries into the big front window.

Across the way, Farmer Amer cries out the latest price of his farm-fresh eggs as he tries in vain to corral the swarm of hens that provide them.

_“Fifteen cents! Fifteen cents for a dozen! Laid fresh this morning!”_

If I remember correctly, last week they were twenty cents a dozen. Business must not have boomed.

I walk past the fish market stand, carefully avoiding the milky, vacant eyes of Clancy Dougen’s latest catches as he rests them on a giant bed of ice, ready for purchase. A woman, dragging her defiant children behind her quickly rushes past me, heading in the direction of the village tailor.

“Pick up your feet! I haven’t got all mornin’!” she screeches at them, and she’s answered by their howls of protest.

I marveled at the activity before me, dozens upon dozens of people beginning to file in, all of them leading separate lives, yet sharing just this one particular moment. This was the only time I truly felt like the king I was destined to be. My mother was wrong; these people were not below me, and I would gladly put myself among them if duty called for it.

I see the book shop just up ahead on my left, next to Wilson’s Haberdashery and nearly clip the end of a floral cart in my haste to get there. I rush through the front door, the little bell hanging over the doorway chiming with my arrival, and immediately, Mr. Norman turns toward the sound.

Mr. Norman owns the book shop, and he and his daughter, Shelley, live in the apartment right above it. He opened it himself about 7 years ago after the library on the other side of the square caught fire one summer.

Thankfully, a good number of the books survived the blaze, and Mr. Norman was able to buy them for a bargain and open his own shop.

And like he does every Saturday morning when I come in, Mr. Norman shakes his head with a chuckle. “Just like clockwork, Roman.”

“Good morning!” I greet him as I fish one of the books out of my satchel and walk over to him as he’s casually dusting a book shelf.

He turns to me, his stubble heavy cheeks stretching in a weary smile as he takes them from my hands. Mr. Norman is not an old man, but the years of owning this shop have certainly worn on him. And it wasn’t as if he ever really got a break from the place either; home was at work, work was at home.

I came across this place entirely by accident on my second or third excursion from home. I’d ventured into the village on a particularly busy morning and got caught up in the bustle of people. In a panic, I grabbed the handle of the front door of the building nearest to me and ducked inside to avoid being trapped by the throngs of the crowd.

Imagine my delight at discovering that my safe haven from the mobs outside was actually the safe haven I needed from my life. Mr. Norman welcomed me with open arms that day, more than happy to help a lost kid with a thirst for literature find his next adventure.

I didn’t have any money on me at the time to buy any of the books, so Mr. Norman and I set up an arrangement. I could borrow as many books as I wanted, and keep them for as long as I needed (which was usually never more than a week) and then bring them back to trade for a new set of books. His shop would serve as my own personal library.

We had a library of sorts in the castle, but I’d exhausted the majority of those resources by the time I was twelve.

I’d been an avid reader since the ripe old age of six, mercilessly fascinated by the endless stories books provided. For me, they were more of a refuge than anything else; I could explore thousands of other worlds when the one around me became too much.

Mother wasn’t of the literary sort, so we didn’t have much material in the library. To her, reading was more of a last resort form of pastime. She often placed the blame on books for my “overzealous imagination”.

“You think much too much, darling,” she would say. “All of those  _books_  putting so many contradicting ideas and opinions in your head; it isn’t healthy for a boy your age to dwell on such things.”

She was wrong, of course. The thoughts and daydreams that swim through my head are the very things that save me. Everything I read gives me hope for the possibility that I could have something different, something better than what I have. But I could never tell her that; she wouldn’t even try to understand.

Mr. Norman gives the book a quick once over before tucking it under his arm and continuing to dust.

“So, what’s the verdict?” he asked me.

I bite down on my bottom lip in contemplation as I immediately begin scouring the shelves for a new read.

“I enjoyed it enough,” I reply. “Not a very climactic ending. It had me right up until then.”

Mr. Norman chuckles. “Ah, yes. I often forget your flare for the dramatic.’

I shrug. “I wouldn’t say ‘dramatic’… But what’s the point in writing an adventure story if you’re gonna make the ending boring?”

Mr. Norman moves on to the next shelf with his feather duster, offering me a solemn nod. “I agree,” he says. “So, now we’re on the search for something more exciting?”

“Oh, I don’t have a preference. You know that,” I smirk.

“That I do.”

About that time, slow yet thundering footsteps come from the hallway in the back of the shop. Both Mr. Norman and I turn toward the sound and I smile as Shelley announces her approach.

Like me, Shelley Norman was very much the outsider of her home. Not in her own house, of course, but around the square, she was regarded with little more than fearful caution.

Standing at well over seven feet tall, Shelley was literally a tower over everyone in town. That was daunting enough for most people, but on top of that, she was born with a facial deformity that was quite startling upon first glance. Her right eye was twice as big as her left, and drooped down into her cheek, which was etched with peculiar scarring.

And I wasn’t sure if this had to do with trauma caused by the scorn she’s been met with or if she physically can’t, but in all the years I’d known her, Shelley has never spoken a word. In fact, she barely utters a sound.

Her appearance was monstrous, and her silence was sometimes eerie, but she had the temperament of a scared church mouse. No one would know that, though. Because of their repulsion toward her, Mr. Norman kept her hidden indoors so she’d be safe from their ridicule.

It broke my heart knowing that she couldn’t even explore the world around her because such small-minded people couldn’t be bothered to find out what a gentile creature she really was. I, on the other hand, felt honored to know her, and always tried to let her know that I was a friend.

Cautiously, Shelley peeks her head around the corner to make sure there was no one in the shop to frighten away.

“There she is!” I cheer and skip over to her. Upon seeing me, her face lights up with a bright smile and she timidly steps out from behind the doorway.

I fling my arms out to her and she mimics the action as I draw closer, sweeping me into a bear hug in her gigantic embrace. I hug her back enthusiastically, trying my best to ignore the crushing feeling in my lungs. She sets me back down on the ground and is practically bouncing with excitement.

Mr. Norman walks toward us, greeting his daughter with a smile.

“Did you sleep alright, Little Dove?” he asks, and Shelley nods.

With her hands still in mine, I bow down to her in a curtsy and lift up her arm, hoping she’ll know what I’m trying to do. She does, and eventually, she twirls herself around in a clumsy circle, her feet lumbering heavily against the creaky wooden floors.

I bow to her again before breaking out into applause. “Would you look at her? Beauty,  _and_  grace.”

A hard blush breaks out over her cheeks and with a giggle, she tries to hide behind the thick black curtain of her hair.

“Practicing for tonight, are we?” Mr. Norman asks, amused.

At this reminder, I feel something shrivel up inside me and sink to the bottom of my stomach. Three days from now, I would turn eighteen and therefore be ready to take my mother’s place on the throne. Custom dictates that in order to fully be king, I must have a queen.

Every available maiden in the kingdom was invited to attend a ball in my honor, and after an evening of mundane small talk and enough dances to make your feet numb, I was expected to choose one girl (out of possibly hundreds) and take her as my bride.

The very thought of it made my insides ache. I could put it out of my mind as much as I wanted, but it didn’t change the facts. I was mere hours away from becoming ruler of this land, of this quaint little village, of all of these people, and there wasn’t a single part of me that was near ready.

I’d had eighteen years to wallow and contemplate and prepare for this, but I hadn’t even tried. I hadn’t wanted to.

“I guess so,” my voice comes out like a squeak. I give Shelley a playful nudge with my elbow. “Will I be seeing you there, my fair maiden?”

I see something dark cloud over Shelley’s eyes and her face falls glumly as she shakes her head. A sick feeling pools in my gut as I realize that perhaps not every girl in the village got an invitation. Knowing Mother, that was not far out of realm of possibility.

I reach up and carefully swipe the hair away from her face. “In that case, I might as well not go either,” I say. “Or I could just take you as my bride right now! You’d make a lovely queen.”

Once again, Shelley blushes as my skin makes contact with hers. The sadness appears to have left her eyes and relief fills me. I never like to see her sad.

Behind me, I hear Mr. Norman clear his throat.

“Sweetheart, why don’t you go get the birthday present we have for Roman, hmm?”

Shelley’s face lights up excitedly, turning around and scurrying back down the hallway. She disappears completely from sight before Mr. Norman lets out a heavy sigh.

“I want more than anything to let her go…” he says, referring to tonight’s festivities. “She deserves to be treated like all the other girls, to be seen as the princess I see her as. She’s been met with such…such _cruelty_ from this town. All because she’s different…just different”

I turn toward the sound of his wavering voice, dismayed to see the unmistakable sheen of tears in his eyes. I’m taken aback by his sudden emotion, at a complete loss for words. But before I can even try to think of something comforting to say, Mr. Norman speaks again.

“They don’t see her that way, though. To them, she’s not a girl, but a monster in need of their condemnation. And I worry that trying to force her further into society would only make their ridicule worse,” he sniffs, the agony written plainly on his face. “But then, sometimes I wonder… isn’t hiding her from the rest of the world just my way of ridiculing her too?”

I meet his eyes, a knot forming in my stomach as his words sink in. It angered me to know that Shelley, the sweetest, most gentle creature I’ve ever met in my life, has been treated so poorly by the world that her father feels the need to hide her from it. I can’t say that I blame him for that, either. Why would he want her to be part of a society that doesn’t want her?

Mr. Norman quickly swipes the tears out of his eyes, thinking I haven’t already seen them. I offer a sad smile, still not quite knowing what I can possibly say to him. I doubt he really wants me to say anything; it was just a feeling that he needed to pry off his chest. Still, I can’t let him think he’s just as toxic to his daughter as everyone else.

“You’re only trying to protect her. You’re her father, that’s what you should do,” I say quietly.

Turning to look out the big picture window, Mr. Norman sighs wistfully as he watches the hoards of villagers scurry past the shop, preoccupied with their own routines.

“Yeah, well… I’m not sure if it’s protecting her as much as it is punishing her,” he says.

I regard him with careful eyes, wondering if I should even voice the idea that’s just come to me. He’s afraid for his daughter, I can see that. And he’s right to protect her from those who may wish to harm her. But he’s also right in saying that keeping her locked away wasn’t fair either. She deserved to experience the world just as much as everyone else.

“She could still go,” I say, and Mr. Norman looks back at me with a measured expression. “I mean…I’ll be there with her the whole time, I won’t let anything happen.”

But no sooner has the suggestion left my mouth is Mr. Norman shaking his head. “No… I trust you to keep her safe but…I don’t think her presence would be welcomed. She wasn’t invited...”

Something burns in the bottom of my stomach as my worst suspicion is confirmed. Mother really could be so unabashedly cruel sometimes.

“For what it’s worth, I’ve always appreciated your kindness toward her, Roman,” he says, a sad smile cracking his face. “You’ve given her a friend in this world and really…that’s all I’ve ever truly wanted for her. Thank you.”

“No need to thank me,” I say. “She’s given me a friend, too.”

The faint clopping of Shelley’s footsteps return and we both drop the conversation as we listen to her coming closer. She pops around the corner and lumbers down the hallway toward us, her hand clutched around a small parcel. She comes to stop in front of me and practically pushes the parcel into my hands, a white, silk handkerchief tied with a twine ribbon.

I take it from her with a smile and delicately pull apart the bow of twine. I unwrap the folds of the handkerchief to find three brand new charcoal sticks for my sketching.

“I know it’s not much, but…” Mr. Norman shrugs sheepishly.

“Are you kidding? I love them!” I say. I hold my arms out to Shelley who grabs me up in another crushing hug. When she releases me, I turn to Mr. Norman. “Thank you…both of you. You really shouldn’t have.”

“Happy birthday,” Mrs. Norman smiles, then goes back to his dusting.

I carefully nestle the sticks into my pocket, and for the forty-five minutes or so, I hungrily browse the book shelves, though I’m sure by now I have everything on them memorized. Shelley mostly stays by my side, and every now and then, I pull a random book down and read the first page to her, asking for her opinion on whether or not I should get it. Some books garnered a smile, others a mild scrunch of the nose.

I narrow it down to three choices and thank Mr. Norman and Shelley again for the birthday gift before deciding it’s time to bid them farewell. They each give me a friendly wave as I make my way out of the bookshop.

An awful, sinking feeling fills my stomach as I close the shop’s door behind me. Through the big picture window, I can see both of their silhouettes, arms still raised in goodbye, and I keep myself planted there to watch them for a just a few seconds longer, suddenly fearing that I’m never going to see them again.

With a hard swallow, I push the bad feeling away and force my feet to carry me forward. The big clocktower in the middle of the square casts a large shadow over the cobblestoned streets and I give it a quick glance, my heart leaping into my throat when I realize what time it is.

It’s nearing a quarter to eight, and I have less than enough time to make it back home without my absence being noticed. Hastily, I shove the books into my duffle and hustle through the square, dodging shoppers and merchants and free roaming children at nearly every turn.

I curse myself for getting so absorbed in the books this morning as I finally make it to the forest surrounding the outskirts of the square. Now, I hit a dead run through the trees, keeping a close eye out for any animals or fallen foliage that may serve as an obstacle.

The sun has come out and shines brightly through the trees, casting a gorgeous bath of light over the woods. More than anything, I want to stop and immerse myself in its serenity, but I squelch the urge to do so as I push myself harder, pump my legs faster.

The ground below me curves up into an incline, and I know that means I’m close. The trees around me fall away as I begin climbing the hill to the castle. I can feel the oxygen depleting from my lungs as the hill grows steeper, but I can’t let myself slow down.

The hill eventually evens out into the rest of the yard and I sprint across it with a final swell of energy. I make it to the side of the castle, setting my sights on the window to my bedchamber and use the jagged stones to climb up. The course texture irritates my fingertips immediately, but I ignore the discomfort as I push on.

With a huff, I reach up and grab the sill of my still open window, pulling myself through it. I roll through the window and hit the floor with a thud, the breath momentarily knocked out of me. I moan as I stand on my aching feet and carefully remove my duffle from around my shoulders, relief flowing through me.

I made it home in time; I can’t believe I actually—

“And wherever did you run off to, darling?”

The silky tone of her voice seems to echo throughout the room, and I feel the blood in my veins turn to ice in an instant. Slowly, I turn around and I see Mother sitting in the chair of my bureau, still hidden in shadow from the sunlight that has not yet reached that side of them room.

Regally, she stands, already dressed in one of her finest everyday gowns and adorning her most prized pieces of jewelry, her jet-black hair falling around her shoulders in perfect waves and her face painted with the softest and most natural of tones.

Mother never let anyone see her in anything less, embodying the prim and proper illusion she’s tried to instill in me since birth. I become hyperaware of my own disheveled appearance as I stand before her, dirt and sweat staining my clothes.

She takes a step toward me and I feel something inside of me cower, once again cursing myself for taking so long in the bookshop. I had never been so careless before, why did I have to mess that up now?

She comes to stand tall in front me, her hands crossed tightly in front of her. “You missed your appointment with the governess.”

“I know,” I reply sheepishly.

“Might I ask why?”

My eyes travel up to her face, and the cold sternness of her expression sends a chill up my spine. I quickly look back down at my feet, my hands fidgeting at the hem of my shirt.

“I, uh… I went into town. To the square,” I answer.

I can practically hear Mother’s nose turn up in disgust. “What on _earth_ for?”  

“Well, there’s, um… there’s this bookshop that I really like. And sometimes I go there to—”

“Ahh…” Mother sighs. “You and your reading...”

Taking a few steps back, she turns and makes her back to the bureau, casually running a finger across its surface. Her hand brushes over a few of the trinkets I keep there, mostly art supplies, and a noise of disapproval escapes from between her teeth.

“Roman, do you know what tonight is?” she asks, never taking her eyes off of the bureau.

I clear my throat. “Yes.”

“Then you must understand how _important_ it is for you?”

“I do.”

She turns back around and walks over to me again, a hint of danger sparking in her eyes. “Then what possessed you to waste such precious time gallivanting around town like some filthy commoner?? You had a lesson this morning!”

I shrink down into a hunch. “I know…”

“This is noble tradition that goes back hundreds of years! Does that matter to you? Don’t you care about taking over the throne?”

A stone sinks in my stomach as I form the answer I know she wants to hear. “Of course.”

“Then I suggest you act like it!” she seethes. “I’ve sacrificed everything in my reign of this kingdom, and I’ll be damned if you make a mockery of me.”

I feel the prickle of tears in my eyes, but blink until the feeling goes away. Mother steps closer, her eyes traveling me up and down before landing on the duffel that’s still clutched in my hand.

“So… You really went all the way to the square for a few books?” her voice lilts suspiciously.

My head nods heavily, feeling as though it could topple off of my shoulders at any second. I hear something that sounds like a laugh catch in Mother’s throat as she rests a hand on the side of my face.

“Such an odd boy,” she sighs, placing a kiss on my cheek. I shiver slightly at the cold, reptilian feeling of her lips against my skin.

The knot in my stomach begins to loosen when she turns around and makes her way toward the door. She grips the handle and pulls the door open, but whips her head around to fix her steely gaze on me.

“Tonight, you will be prompt, properly dressed, and attentive to our guests. Do I make myself clear?”

I fervently nod my head. “Yes, Mother.”

“Good,” she says. “I also expect you to make up your lesson with the governess by this afternoon. There’s much to get ready and I need you to be prepared.”

Again, I nod, casting my eyes to the ground and wishing she would just leave me be.

“Now, come downstairs for a spot of breakfast,” she says, her face scrunching prudishly. “But might I suggest a bath first? You smell like a street rat.”

And with that, she yanks the door open and glides through it like a ghost. The door closes behind her and I revel in the silence for a moment before dragging my duffel over to the bed and collapsing on top of it.

The tears well up in my eyes again as I stare hopelessly at the ceiling with a sigh, the feeling of freedom I had when I woke up this morning having completely vanished.


End file.
